Keep Smiling Through
by TheOldVillianWriter
Summary: It's the late 1930's and Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper have two different lives. She is one of few female Doctors and he is the Consulting Detective. Their lives collide and something dangerous is on the Horizon... [Disclaimer: I don't most characters, all go the Doyle and Sherlock series.]
1. The Bare-Knuckle Boxer

7th November, 1938

Molly woke to a series of intermittent taps at the door. Frowning, she rolled onto her side and squinted at the numbers on the clock. It read ten to two in the morning.

Another tap. Molly groaned and swung her legs out of bed. She pulled the curtains away from the window to peer down at the street below. An unfamiliar figure standing at the door.

"Who are you and what do you want?" She inquired, annoyed about being woken early.

"Some help. Please let me in." Sherlock's hat was pulled down low over his face, his hands disappearing quickly into his pockets.

"What? Who on earth are you?'

"Oh, for God's sake, let me in." Sherlock hissed to himself, lifting his head to look up at her. "I, ah, I'd rather appreciate your medical expertise," Taking his hat off and turning to face her. She gasps at the state of Sherlock's face and hands. His right eye was swollen shut, a large purple bruise surrounding it. Dried blood crusted around his nose and just above his lips, the bottom one split. A shallow cut followed the line of his cheekbone, pinkish blood surrounding it. The skin of his knuckles was split open, his hands swollen and bloody.

She pulled a robe around her and rushed downstairs to open the door and let the stranger in. He was in a loose shirt and braces, buttons undone nearly to his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbow. His brown trousers were worn and the battered pair of boots on his feet.

'What in God's name have you done to yourself, Sir?'

"I won!" Sherlock cried defensively, wincing as his lip began to bleed again. "I hear your the best Doctor on the area, so I came to you." Molly pushed Sherlock into the kitchen none too gently, ignoring the grimace from Sherlock at the sudden pressure from her hand.

"Idiot of the year, I should imagine, and I mean that in the medical rather than the colloquial sense." Molly snapped, it was rather too early for her.

A few dark bruises were scattered across his skin, looking worse than they probably were underneath the harsh kitchen light.

"Please sit down." Molly said, opening his doctor's bag where it rested on the table. Pulling everything she might need out. She scrubbed her hands with a reddish bar of carbolic soap that she had lying around, working the lather in between her fingers and up her forearms. She then grabbed a tin bowl from under the sink and rinsed it out.

"Illegal Bare knuckle boxing?" She asked, pulling the curtains across the one window in the kitchen just to be safe before running the cold tap to fill the bowl.

'I'm a Champion,' Sherlock said. His black and blue and bleeding face and sweat-matted hair spoilt the illusion a little.

She rolled his eyes once again and poured a healthy measure of salt into the bowl of cold water, twisting the tap off.

'I am, I told you I won!'

'Shhh. You'll wake everyone up.' Molly glared at him, putting the bowl of water down on the table. 'Hands in there. I don't doubt for a second that you are, it's just many people do this." She found some aspirin and poured a glass of water. "Open your mouth."

Obediently, Sherlock parted his lips, allowing her to place a pill on his tongue and bring the glass of water to his mouth. Sherlock swallowed them and licked his lips when Molly took the glass away, tasting fresh blood on his tongue. Sherlock grimaced when Molly dabbed gently at the blood around the cut on his cheek with the wet cloth.

"Alright?" Molly asked quietly, cupping Sherlock's jaw and tilting his head back gently.

"Stings like hell." Sherlock replied looking down to his hands. Flexing his fingers slowly in the bowl of water.

"This won't sting half as much as the cream I'm going to put on you. Just be glad you don't need stitches. How long ago did your nosebleed stop?" Molly wiped the dark crust of blood away from his nose.

"When I was about halfway here."

Molly nodded and tilted Sherlock's head forwards again. "Concussed?"

"I was able enough to walk to your flat, but you're the expert."

"You're not showing any signs of concussion. Where else where you hit?"

"Mainly my face and torso." Sherlock replied, mouth pulling into a half-grin. Fresh blood spilt from his lip again, which she chased with the clean cloth, dabbing carefully at his lips.

"No missing teeth?"

"None."

"You were lucky you didn't come out with worse." She went over to the sink and rinsed another cloth through, wringing it out and folding it into a neat square, placing it over Sherlock's black eye. 'Hold that there,' She said, lifting Sherlock's hand to press against the cloth. She picked up the tube of acriflavine cream off the table and squeezed the thick, bright yellow, strong-smelling substance out onto her fingertip. "This will sting." She said, spreading a thin layer over and around the cut on Sherlock's cheek.

'It smells repulsive,' Wrinkling his nose and grimacing at the feel of the cream on his skin. 'And it hurts.'

"That means it's working Sir." Molly said with a kindly doctor's smile. "Stand up."

Sherlock stood with a groan, still holding the damp cloth to his eye. Molly untucked his shirt from his trousers and lifted it, examining the bruises on Sherlock's pale skin.

"No cuts, that's good." She said, quickly applying some of the yellow cream to Sherlock's knuckles before replacing everything neatly in the bag. "I'd run you a cool bath to soak in but the plumbing would be far too loud at this hour. Have you got a bed?"

"A couple of miles from here. I could walk."

"Where exactly?"

"Baker Street."

"That's four miles! I'm not letting you walk that on your own." She looked at him. "You can stay in mine, I'll sleep in the living room."

"I can't do that. Why would you let a stranger sleep in your house?"

"It's not mine, it's my brothers. Every bare knuckle fighter you know has probably come to me. Some of them are homeless. You need sleep after a fight like that. Either you sleep here or I'm walking you home."

Sherlock nodded. "Alright. Aren't you going to ask my name?"

"Most of them want to stay anonymous. What is your name then, Sir?"

"Sherlock Holmes."


	2. The Small Box

10th November, 1938

Molly sighed as she twisted the stem between her fingers, letting the small flower turn about. She let her feet dangle as she sat on the edge of the small bridge. It was her favourite place, a few yards behind her house. It raised over a tiny stream where Molly had helped the gardener plant flowers around it every year. Every year she would do this, and every year her mother would pester her about getting dirty. As Molly got older, she approved of it even less; she called it "Inappropriate behaviour for a lady."

Her father would give the silent nod and she would wander out there and do it anyway. Even after the gardener died she still wandered down with a scarf around her head, to keep her hair out of the way, and an apron to keep her dress as clean as possible.

The chill blew over and she wrapped her coat tighter around her, keeping her hands in her sleeves. Only because she managed to cut a hole in the only pair that she had. She didn't even notice Sherlock coming up behind her. He cocked is head slightly to see what she was doing.

"Doctor Hooper, You know you will get the chills if you sit there with a thin coat like that."

She nearly jumped out her skin when she heard his voice, recognising it from that night previously. "Mr Holmes, is it a habit of yours to sneak up on people, or am I just one of the lucky ones?"

"I didn't sneak up on you." He bluntly remarked. "I've come to thank you for helping me the other night. I didn't really show my appreciation."

She glanced over at him, looking at all of his wounds. "You walked out of the door as I got up. You seem to be healing well."

"I apologise, it was rather rude."

"Not at all, my brother would have had a go at me anyway if he saw you."

They both smile at each other. "I may be in need of your assistance soon. Your professional opinion on a case."

"A case?" She looked puzzled at him.

"Ah, I must explain. I sometimes work with the police to solve crimes. A consulting detective." He smirked a little.

"How on earth do you do that?" She sat up a little, rather interested.

"Observe. For example, from your house, I can tell you live with your Brother, his wife and their three year old. Named after you, of course. He's a military man, has been for ten years. Your other brother isn't around. You still have pictures of him, you love him but don't talk about him. Possibly don't approve of something he did. Your a doctor, well obviously, but your more interested in pathology. Your father died ten years ago, your mother before that. Your a painter too. Oils by the look of your fingers and apron."

"That's utterly amazing. My niece is called Elizabeth Molly. My brother was killed a couple of years ago and Mathew has served for eight years."

"Damn it, there's always something." He scowled at himself, making her chuckle a little.

"Very well Mr Holmes, I will assist you." She turned and he had disappeared. Leaving a small box in his place.

12th November, 1938.

She laid there for weeks, just begging to be found. Staring at those few words, through the cold and damp days. Her head facing the way that he escaped. Wanting for some kindness.

It was not until the landlord came knocking that she was discovered. He had not even bothered to lock on the door. That was what he was like, he smiled at the thought that the police were unable to do anything.

As they arrived the deepest part of the pool had coagulated but some of the crimson colour, which had flowed through her vessels, was now black and sticky to the touch. Her chin lay in the viscous fluid on her chest. The face was a permanent painting of terror for the world to see. It was the intended audience, but few would actually see. She was not the first and not the last, doomed for eternity to be forgotten.

The only sound that could be heard in the room was the constant beating of wings that were hovering over her, Just finding the perfect place to nestle in the blunt force trauma on her head.

This young woman was bound and gagged; curled up on the bed. Her head lovingly placed on the pillow and he had tucked her arms around her folded knees. The Flies were attracted to the sweet musty smell of the dried blood that had crusted over her finely curled fair hair. Maggots feasted on the lump of flesh that was curled around itself. She was not part of the living anymore. She did not breath, talk or smile brightly.

"Miss Sophie Askew of 74 Camden Road. Father owns the grocery store." Detective Inspector Lestrade pointed out. "Only 23 years old."

"He's getting an appetite for younger women." Sherlock interceded, walking into the room, looking over the body

"Doctor Hooper, what do you think?"

All were stunned to see he had brought a woman with him to a crime scene. It seemed she had a stronger stomach then most of them. She had slipped out from behind him to look at the body. Examining it with the a delicate touch from her leather gloved hands

The Consulting Detective looked around the room for any evidence. He walked to the front door and wonder through the flat to try and find something that was of use to them. His beady eyes searching, following every edge of detail.

"A primary look suggests Exsanguination due to an open incised wound to the neck. The amount of blood could suggest he cut the main artery. She tried to at least get away, defensive wounds on her arms."

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "She knew her killer, most likely high society." Lestrade turned and cocked his brow at him, writing everything down.

Molly glanced down to her abdomen. "Mr Holmes, Detective Inspector."

They both looked over to her as she felt around the slightly swollen belly. "She was pregnant."


	3. The Incident in Crosby's Garden

20th November, 1938.

Molly hadn't expected her evening to end in Sherlock's arms. But there she was, her face pressed against his chest. She could hear this thundering heartbeat, her breath having been taken from her when he'd pulled her to him quickly.

She was about to protest when she heard approaching footsteps on the gravel, and she held herself incredibly still, just listening.

Sir George Crosby was a dangerous man. Sherlock had told her that beforehand. She accompanied him of the case, seeing the trail of distraction he had caused. Sherlock needed her expertise. As well as a Dance partner. For a man who loathed the social niceties he was graceful and full of decorum. She was really out of her depth, finding herself at a loss all evening until finally seeing Sherlock exit towards the gardens.

She'd had the intention of confronting him about being daft enough to follow up a lead on his own, when suddenly he'd silenced her, listening for something before his eyes went wide and practically dragged her into the darkness of the garden.

Holding their breaths as the currently most dangerous man walked six feet from them, and Molly found her grip tightening around the fabric of Sherlock's jacket.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity to both of them, the footsteps retreated, the louder sound of the party coming through an open door muffled once again as it closed indicated that they were once again alone.

"Molly, what the hell were you thinking?" Sherlock hissed at her, his voice still low but obviously furious as he pulled her shoulders back away from him to be able to peer into her face. "Do you understand what could have happened if he saw you?" Molly saw the muscles of his jaw tighten in the moonlight, his eyes furious. "You could have put yourself in danger, and I wouldn't have been able to save you."

At those words, Molly felt her own temper rise. "I would not have needed any saving if you had let me in on what's going on. Why not tell me to steer clear, why not let me in the your scheme?" She pushed her hands against his chest, wrenching herself from free from his grip. "You know that I can help. That's why you asked me here. But no, you're the great Sherlock Holmes..." Molly's tirade was suddenly cut off. He was gone, leaving Molly alone in the chill of the night.

She returned to the party, keeping up appearances. Either waiting for him to return or waiting until a suitable time so she could excuse herself and go home. There was a tap on her shoulder and she turned to see Crosby standing behind her.

"What man would leave a woman unescorted to a dance?" He kissed the back of her hand gently. "You never know who might be around." He had a sly smirk on his face.

"He will be back soon I imagine Sir." She smiled a little and looked around for Sherlock.

"Since he is not here now, may I have this dance?" She took another decisive move and nodded in acceptance. She knew he would have defensive wounds from where his victims struggled and this was the perfect time to see them.

He glided them over to the dance floor, taking her hand and putting the other hand on her waist. Molly delicately put her hand on his shoulder and he winced slightly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." She moved it to the side slightly.

"Don't be silly. It happens a lot. Old stubborn horse-riding injury."

They danced until a couple of long fingers pressed against his shoulder as the piece if music ended. It was Sherlock. "May I?"

They carried on with the slow waltz. "You did it again Molly. I wouldn't have been able to save you at all."

"It's defiantly him. Defensive marks on his hands and neck as well as pain in his shoulder from when the policeman tried to arrest him."

His eyes widen. "You put yourself in danger for my case."

"It was one dance. He wouldn't have chosen me as a victim."

"Thank you Doctor Hooper. I owe to you for helping me.

...

'Where on earth do you imagine you're going to find an open fish and chip shop at midnight?' Molly asked, pulling her coat around herself tightly, walking quicker than she would normally to keep pace with Sherlock as they strode across Westminster Bridge.

"I don't imagine I'm going to find an open fish and chip shop at midnight. Chap near here owns a chip shop owes me a favour." Sherlock said with a wide grin, jogging backwards. He lifted his eyebrows and ran down the stairs, jumping off the third from the bottom and landing on his feet with an echoing smack. It was so strange to be walking around the streets of London in formal attire.

"I never thought you'd be one for such base pleasure as pickled onions Mr Holmes." Molly called as she followed down the stairs at a more slower pace, her hands in her pockets and a smile on her face.

Three quarters of an hour later, Sherlock and Molly were wandering slowly down the South Bank, both eating fish and chips from newspaper with their fingers. The moon reflected on the river and the city was quiet and still.

"We're miles from my house." said, licking the grease and salt off her fingers.

"No further than Bart's,' Sherlock replied. "Approximately two minutes within your normal journey time from the hospital."

"How do you know that?"

"I know every street in London." Sherlock broke off a bit of fish and popped it into his mouth.

"Of course you do." Molly laughed. "You're extraordinary." She said, gazing at Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at Molly out of the corner of his eye, looking quickly over each shoulder before he pushed her against the trunk of a nearby tree and pressed their lips together.

"Sherlock!" She gasped when Sherlock bit at her lower lip, licking into his mouth. 'Mm, Sherlock, no, we'll be seen, we'll be seen..."

"It's quarter to one." Sherlock murmured, his voice throaty. He kissed her hard and chaste again.

'You bloody idiot,' Molly hissed, shoving Sherlock's shoulder and doing her best to look indignant. They caught each other's eye and kissed again.


	4. Tea at the Diogenes Club

1st December, 1938.

"Dr Hooper." Molly turned to see three men standing behind her. All smartly dress in black, they had been following her from St Bart's, something she had noticed. She sped up a little when she heard them speak her name. The men grabbed Molly by the arms, lifting her up a little, which was quiet easy since she was rather petit and took her to the alley near. Pushing her into a car and telling her to keep quiet.

"Within the hour, Molly Hooper was standing on the stoop of what she thought was an exclusive men-only club in the heart of London. The door opened and an elderly man offered him her hand to get of the car. "I do apologise for the abrupt way these men have brought you here but Mr Holmes thought it an absolutely necessary precaution." He signalled at them to leave and gestured for Molly to follow him back through the bowels of the old, wood-paneled building. Opening the door to an office.

"Ah, Doctor Hooper." The man sat up. He was obviously of high society, in an important position. Everything that Sherlock described to her.

"Mr Holmes, I believe."

Mycroft's mouth thinned out into an approximation of a smile. "You are every bit as perceptive as my brother indicated. Please, Mycroft." Politely pointing to the seat opposite him. Molly scrunched her nose, a little suspicious of him. "Charles, be so good as to bring in a fresh trolley. You prefer tea, don't you Dr Hooper?" The butler bowed out and she sat in the plush red chair that probably cost more than a year's salary for her. "Why have you abducted me and brought me here then Mr Holmes?"

Mycroft waved an imperious hand dismissively. "I didn't abduct you. You came at your own will. You could have said no or ran." Mycroft was studying her with the same narrow-eyed look Sherlock had when he was parsing clues. This Holmes, at least, did not blurt out his conclusions to all. At the same time, he was colder, more reserved. One of the things Molly liked most about Sherlock was his almost manic energy, the passion he showed for his work.

"I know for a fact that you would have forced me to come one way or the other. I've known Sherlock for a few weeks and his brother see it fit to take me off the street. Why?"

"My brother's safety is important to me. I worry about him, constantly. Although I would like this to go unmentioned.

"She was presented with a lovely smelling cup of tea and passing a tea cake to Molly. She tried to refuse the cake, but Mycroft insisted and she found herself devouring the lightest confection she had ever eaten. "What is that to do with me?"

"A pochemuchka." He murmured under his breath. "You know, Miss Hooper, you have turned out to be one of the most useful assets in all of this. You've managed to pull him out of his anti-sentimental shell. Everyone underestimates you, including, I'm ashamed to say, me. I won't be making that mistake again, though, rest assured."

"Doctor, Mr Holmes. I've worked to hard against society to be called otherwise." She became a little irritated. Mycroft made the last part sound suspiciously like a threat. He was staring at her again, hands in a steeple under his chin in a pose so familiar. Listening to her next words carefully. "I've paid attention. You're very like him, you know. Same mannerisms, only a little more subtle. Not that difficult to spot the way you both handle people, though. You're the one who taught him how to do it in the first place, aren't you? He just doesn't apply his skills in exactly the same way.

"Mycroft looked at her for a long moment and stood, towering over her now. "You seem confident for somebody whom has know my brother for a few weeks.

"You learn about a person very quickly when you work with them." She watched him stand there.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock stormed into the room.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, brother dear."

She turns to see him standing there. "Sherlock? What is going on? How did you get in?"

"He was starting to get a little angry, checking her to make sure the men didn't hurt her. "I thought it would be a matter of time before he did this."

"It's fine Sherlock. Really, I am."

"I didn't let them hurt her. Mycroft sighed. "Stop being dramatic."

"Why was he talking to you?" Sherlock asked, sounding annoyed. Refusing to talk to him. He interrupted before she had a chance to reply. "It doesn't matter. Stay away from him."

"Your being erratic Sherlock."

"You're the one kidnapping my friends. Stop being so childish."

"Your calling me the childish. Do I have to remind you about last Christmas?"

Molly had the sense to pull Sherlock out of the endless argument about to ensue. "Come one Sherlock. Thank you for the tea Mr Holmes but my brother will be home soon and will wonder where I am." She tugged on Sherlock's arm.

"You've not heard the end of this Mycroft." He slowly retreated, Molly not letting go of his arm until they were near enough to her house. Slipping quietly through the back door into the kitchen.

"Please don't let him into Bart's. He invades enough of my life."

"I won't let him Sherlock. I promise."

"It's comforting to hear." He stopped and was silent for another long moment, eventually and slowly wrapping his arm around her waist. "It's good to know that someone in the world wishes me well."

"Always."

"What did he call you? He usually says something under his breath."

"A pochemuchka, it doesn't directly translate but it's something like..."

"Someone who asks a lot of questions." He smiled.


	5. 221B Baker Street

20th November 1938

I need your help. 221B Baker Street. Come even if inconvenient. -SH

Molly looked up to the large black ornate outside door of 221B. Then at the note in her hand again. For some reason it reminded her of Sherlock. The knocker slightly moved slightly to the left.

She had received the note on the way back home from St Bart's, a homeless person pulling her into a quiet corner and handing it to her. "From Mr Holmes, quickly, he will be waiting."

Odd, quite odd. The only thing that came into her minsdoor creaked opened and an elderly lady popped her head out. "Doctor Hooper?"

Molly nods and Mrs Hudson beckons her in. "You must be Mrs Hudson."

"Yes, pleasure to meet you Doctor. Don't mind the boys. Dr Watson has just moved in and Sherlock is in his 'Mind palace', or whatever he calls it. Cup of tea?" The landlady said hushed as they walked up the stairs.

"Please, Molly. I would love one, thank you."

The stair case lead straight to the door of the flat. Leading into the large living room. It was covered in papers and several of random objects just laying around as if he was too busy to put them way. Doctor John Watson was sat in the chair in front of her asleep. The table and the floor was spread with books, piles of paired books and a mound of inanimate ones that they had discarded. Sherlock's pitch black violin was leaning against the wooden, intricate fireplace at Watson's feet.

Molly's glance lead to the skull on the mantle piece. Mid-thirties, probably someone Sherlock knew.

"I sometimes talk to him, helps me think." Sherlock was sitting quietly on the floor in his pyjamas and a burgundy dressing gown. He pointed toward the mass if photos on the wall opposite the fireplace. "What do you think?"

Molly looked over at them scanning all of them with a keen eye. One was of the latest victim of the serial killer that he was trying to find. She felt sorry for her, an attractive, young. Her brown hair was carelessly topped on her head with a bun. Her head was turned sideways. Her face was red and bloated, and her mouth was open spilling out her hot blood. Her clothes, once a lovely shade of blue, was now stained a deep crimson. The blood was fresh, and with each moment the blood slowly progressed on the pavement. "Choked her. Muscle deterioration is problematic but cut the oxygen flow long enough to render her unconscious. Then stabbed her." The rest were all numbers, all of them painted onto a red brick wall. "Have you got a pen?" She ordered the number, not that it helped. He continued to just sit there, thinking.

"Tea." Mts Hudson floated in from the kitchen. Passing Molly the cup and saucer. She continued to look over the photos until she realised what they might mean. Sherlock waited until Mrs Hudson left to talk to her. Standing behind her. "Our only lead." His hands touch her hips and his head on her shoulder for a little while.

"I've seen them before, down the market. There's a Chinese stall. I occasionally walk to Chan. He explained it to me." She wrote them down one by one. Her handwriting flowing over the page quickly. "A code perhaps?"

"Yes, I think so." He went over to sit in the chair as John woke. "It will be impossible unless we know the person that made the code."

John, still a little dazed, took the tea that was set aside for him and looked over at Sherlock. "Code?"

"Mol-Dr Hooper has given us a break. Chinese symbols for numbers."

John's eyes lit up a little as he put he the teacup down and picked up a book. "I read something about a number of a page being in indication of the word."

"Yes but there are millions of books they could have used. It would take too long."

"It would have to be a book that everybody can get their hands on." Molly looked back to the two men, putting the cup down. "Was there a book on the body?"

Sherlock jumped up and started to go through the amass of paper on the table. Throwing the books and papers behind him until he found a similar copy of the Atlas that he saw at the crime scene, right at the bottom of the pile.

"The atlas at the crime." John said. "The number corresponds to a place on the map."

"Deadman." He murmured. "The next victim. Molly Hooper, you're brilliant!" Sherlock bounced around, getting his coat on and pulling John up. He held molly in a quick embrace and kissed her cheek, something John thought wasn't entirely proper.

"Sherlock, I haven't finished my tea" John protested as his coat was thrown at him.

"John, forget about the tea. The game is on!" Sherlock rushed down the stairs to the front door. The door slammed as Mrs Hudson came back in.

"Where they rushing off to now?"


	6. St Bart's Cupboard

1st January, 1939.

Molly strode into work, she assumed that today would be just like any other. Her small heels clicked on the floor as she steadily made her way down the wide bleach white corridors of Bart's Hospital, doing her rounds like every other physician in the Hospital. Her mind was totally focused on the days work until something caught her eye. A deep red smear decorated the wall. It looked almost like blood.

Quickly, Molly picked up her pace following the seemingly endless marks. Soon she found herself right at the foot of the supply cupboard doors. She gulped and took a deep breathe before nudging the door open slowly.

"Sherlock!" She murmured, in disbelief. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped.

He was propped against a cupboard. His back arched and his arm slumped over a crimson patch on his usually crisp, white shirt. Trying to pull a bandage around his body. His eyes were open ever so slightly. But he was, to Molly's slightest relief, alive. But maybe not for long, Molly thought when she saw the thick blood pooling under him. Weakening him by the minute.

Ignoring the warm sensation soaking of the blood soaking through her tights, as she knelt down. She pressed her hand over the wound, eliciting a small moan from him. She brushed his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes with the other.

"Molly?" He grumbled.

"I'm here. Stay with me Sherlock. What happened"

"Chasing suspect... Stabbed... Came here... You... Hurts... Tired." Was all she could make out from his slurring voice.

"But you have to stay awake." She stayed in her doctor's frame of mind, she had to keep him awake. She pulled her medical bag open and looked at him. "I'm giving you something for the pain."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter what, just keep looking at me." She smiled a him a little, a reassuring smile to keep him calm. She looked down, cutting the bandage and his shirt to see the full extent of his injuries. He winced a little as she examined it, taking out a needle and thread.

"Molly."

"Sherlock?" She looked up at him.

"You're really pretty." He smiled wryly. Obviously the painkillers were working.

"Thank you but I really have to concentrate on sewing this up."

...

John came stumbling into the waiting room, a worried look etched onto his face. "Where is he? Is he okay?" John questioned, before Molly even had a chance to fully register his arrival.

"He's stable for now. He sustained a puncture wound to his left abdomen but he lost a lot of blood. He's healing although we need to be careful the wound doesn't reopen. Apart from a minor concussion he should be fine soon. Room 37, but we have to keep him quite, no excitement."

The journey through the corridors was a slow and silent one. Neither spoke. Molly didn't even know if she could. Her white coat and tights were still drenched in his blood. She had walked those halls hundreds of times. But this time it was different. This time Sherlock was on the other end and Molly was no longer sure if she could bare to look at his beaten face.

A sickening feeling landed in the pit of her stomach when the door came into view. For a moment she considered turning around. Running. But she couldn't bring herself to do that either, to flee away from the man who came to her for help. John and Molly entered hospital room. There was Sherlock, lying as still as a statue. His skin almost the same color as the sheets he lay on. A large purple bruise had formed under his eye and along his jaw line.

The discomfort was evident on Johns face, clearly hurt be what had happened to his friend. Molly could see he wanted to be here but didn't at the same time. He sat there for an hour until the nurse nearly forced him out of the room, by that time Molly had done the rest of her rounds and had got a new change of clothes.

She replaced John at Sherlock's bedside, She sank into chair next to him, exhausted. Leaving the scarf box on the bedside cabinet. She was meant to give it to him at Christmas but never saw him.

Her eye's never left his face, yet somehow her hand found his her fingers entwining around his. That's where Molly stayed, running her jumbled thoughts over through her mind. Then she felt a twitch on her hand and was snapped back to reality by a weak mumble from the direction of the bed.

"Molly?"


	7. The King's Arms

4th January 1939

"For god sakes Molly, give me something to do. My brain is rotting reading the newspaper over and over again." Sherlock wined again for the 34th time that day. Yes, Molly had been counting. Every single time. Including when she was out and the nurses that were standing at the station outside had told her that he as being loud.

"You can go back home in a few minutes. You just need to get dressed."

"Why, its only Baker Street. I still won't be able to do cases for another few weeks." He scowls as he looks down at the wound, almost snarling. "Why won't this just hurry up and heal already?"

Molly smiles and shakes her head. "That's not going to work Sherlock and you of all people know that." She slowly sits him up, sliding his shirt on and buttoning it up. Tucking it into his trousers and pulling the brasses over his shoulders."

"I can get dressed myself Molly."

She looked up at him. "I'm the only hospital staff you let in here and you were refusing to get dressed.

He rolled his eyes. "You're treating me like a child."

"You're acting like one

He fell silent, it took exactly Twenty seconds. "I need a case Molly."

She sighed a little."You need to heal, a case is not going to help."

He groaned again and mumbled as he tried to stand up, Molly coming to his aid fairly quickly. Sliding an arm around his waist and putting his arm over her shoulder. He looked at her and smiled. "I meant what I said you know."

She chuckles. "You were on painkillers Sherlock. You wouldn't know what you were saying."

"I remember calling you pretty. I was just saying what I was thinking. Based on that, I meant everything I said." He kissed her cheek.

She blushed a little. "You really don't remember what you said."

"How much did I mention?" He looked ever so slightly worried.

"I don't think there's much more you could say."

"I'm sorry for whatever I said that may have been a little..." He tried to find the right word, almost tongue tied. Something she had never expected of him. "Improper."

"It doesn't matter, you had drugs in your system. Some of it was rather flattering." She smiled.

...

She didn't know how he did it, but he convinced her to go to Lestrade and get some case files. Only two hours and she was knocking on his office door.

"Come in." his muffled voice came through the door. He was slightly surprised to see her there. "Dr Hooper?" He stood up. "What can I do you for?"

"Sorry for disturbing you Detective Inspector. Sherlock wants a couple of cases he can do from home while he heals."

"Oh no, don't worry about it. Greg, please." He searches through the files to find a couple of cases. "Moaning already."

"Before I left it was the forty first time, that was just today."

"You and Watson must be saints in order to be able to put up with him daily."

She smiles. "He's not all bad, just a little..."

"Arrogant, Pompous and those are the polite words." He said passing a couple of paper files to her. To his surprise she laughed a little.

"That's only when he's on a case or bored."

"Most of the time then."

...

"Stabbed, he said."

"Yes, with a pen."

"And then scalped..."

"Yes." Molly cleared her throat and dropped her voice a little, knowing Mrs Hudson was around.

"Stabbed and then scalped and left on the bar of the pub, fascinating..." Sherlock was sat on the floor and in the most comfortable position that they could find. Refusing to sit in the chair for a reason that only he knew.

'"The King's Arms, the pub's called." Lestrade walked in, taking off his hat and leaning against the door a few feet away. Looking at him rather suspiciously, a him and a woman on their own in 221B. The starts of a scandal right there.

"Sherlock." He said with a warm smile, straightening up and offering his hand. "Good to see you're okay. Hello again Dr Hooper." He nodded at Molly who gave a smile.

"Yes, likewise." Sherlock muttered. "What do you already know?'

'Uh, let's see.' Lestrade blinked a couple of times and pulled his notebook. "He was discovered by the landlord's daughter two nights ago, changing one of the barrels. We questioned her and didn't have anything to be suspicious about..."

"I'll need to interview her myself."

"You will do no such thing. You're not going out of this flat until John comes back from seeing his Sister." Molly interceded, a stern look on her face. Lestrade was slightly surprised that she only got away with the exasperated sigh Sherlock huffed out, knowing that it would be a week or so.

"Blood?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, surrounding the body. I managed to get a camera down there. Photos are in the file. " He pointed to the file in Molly's hands. she was already flicking through them.

"Axe?' She passed the file over to Sherlock.

'Wooden handle, single bit, straighter edge than usual. More likely an axe of some sorts. Couldn't be anything else from the bloodstain on that beam back there and the damage on the underside of the board game." Eyes alight with the thrill of the game being on again. "Which is most likely at the bottom of the Thames by now." He grinned.


	8. Scrubbing the Bathtub

19th May 1939

"Hello." Molly called, expecting Jess to be home. Taking off her hat and jacket as she shut the front door.

"In the bath." Came Sherlock's muffled reply. "I might need a bit of help."

Hesitantly she pushed the door open and entered the steamy room. A hand over her eyes.

"For gods sake Molly, you can barely see anything." He snapped

"What are you...Good God, what have you done to yourself?" Molly stumbled backwards, eyes widening at the sight of Sherlock lying in a bath of water that was tinged pale pink, face covered in blood, smoking a cigarette.

"Disembowelled an animal. For a case." He said as though it was the only obvious solution, frowning and gesturing in the air with his cigarette. "Had to take the tube." Sherlock grumbled, picking at a fleck of dry blood on the back of his hand.

'I'm not surprised! And don't think for one second that it'll be me scrubbing the sodding bath out.'

Sherlock ignored her, inhaling from his cigarette. "Didn't even prove what I wanted." He mumbled, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette into a saucer on the side of the bath.

She threw a bar of carbolic soap into Sherlock's bath, creating a large splash. "What are you doing here? My brother will have a fit if he finds you here."

"Nobody is not going to find me here. He's busy with the... Doesn't matter. Politics and the army are my brother's strong point. Jess is at the neonatal clinic." He looked up at her and smiled, pulling her into a kiss.

"Sherlock! I'm soaking now." She tried not to laugh as they broke the kiss.

"Good." Sherlock visibly perked up, rubbing the soap aimlessly down his arm. 'I fancy some cod."

"What is it with you and fish and chips?"

He shrugs. "I like them and it's the only time I get to see you. I could kiss you forever." He said, kissing her again.

"No you couldn't. You'd get bored."

"I wouldn't."

"You better hurry up or the water will get cold."

"It's already cold. I was in my mind palace."

"You really are quite mad. You'll get hyperthermia."

"Grab me a towel." He asked, reaching out his arm. "I prefer eccentric."

"No you don't." Passing him it and turning so he could get out and get dressed. "You say you're mad just to see how they react."

Sherlock laughed darkly, wrapping a towel around himself and coaxing her into a deep kiss. "You're one of the very few who still haven't run screaming or told me to piss off."

"Well, you're really not as terrifying as you pretend to be."

"Not to you."

"Only in private." She said quietly. "You need a shave."

He ran his hand over the slight stubble on his chin and cheek. "And a cigarette."

"Oh, you always need a cigarette." Molly kissed Sherlock before leaving the room.

...

Molly and Sherlock were sitting on the embankment near the Thames, eating fish and chips, as every other Friday since they met.

"Molly?"

"Yes."

"You listen to the wireless right?" Popping the final chip in his mouth and screwing the paper up.

"On occasion."

He sighs. "What been happening in Europe recently?"

"Recently, German troops are occupying the remaining part of Bohemia and Moravia; Chamberlain gave a speech in Birmingham, stating that 'Britain will oppose any effort at world domination on the part of Germany'. Rumours that Romania is on the verge of a German attack and Hitler has sent a registered letter to the government of Lithuania stating that Germany intends to annex the port of Memel. Why do you ask me? Isn't your brother the one that..."

"I wanted to know what you knew."

"Why would you want to know that?" She grew curious, finishing hers.

"We really need to talk about this. It looks like war Molly."

"No, it can't be. He wouldn't invade an Allied state, surely?" Looking concerned

"He invaded countries already Molly. It's inevitable. Poland, his next move. Most probably."

"We don't have anything to do with Poland as far as I know."

"Mycroft is trying to talk Chamberlain out of a pact with Poland."

Her immediate reaction was to grab his hand and lean her head against his shoulder. "I don't know him that much but I know he won't let you go to war."

Sherlock kissed her head. "I can't be too sure of that. Or anything."

"Trust me, he won't. Whatever happens, we'll both keep safe, somehow."


	9. A state of War

1st September, 1939

'You haven't heard, have you?' Molly said the second he stepped through the door of her brother's house. "Jess? Matthew?"

'Heard what?' Sherlock was lying on the sofa in one of his thinking poses, hands together as if in prayer, fingertips brushing the underside of his chin.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" She pushed the box in her hand around behind her.

"Baker Street was too noisy and your brother wasn't home so I picked the lock. Wasn't that hard."

Sighing, Molly shrugged out of her coat and strode over to the wireless. "People will talk if you keep doing that."

"You know I don't care what people think. What's behind your back?"

"Nothing, doesn't matter. She flicked the wireless on to a repeat of Chamberlain's speech, and Sherlock frowned as the prime minister's thin voice filled the room. "Probably why Mathew isn't here." She muttered under her breath and shook her head as he went into the kitchen and filled the kettle for tea.

"...a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war..."

The hissing of the gas and the ticking of the clock sounded remarkably loud in the silence that resulted from Sherlock roughly twisting the dials of the wireless to turn it off. Sherlock appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"At least it might keep Mycroft busy for a while." Sherlock drawled. Molly paid no attention and rinsed out two mugs under the tap, spooning sugar into both. He poured that morning's tea out of the pot and gave that a rinse, too, measuring out fresh leaves. The kettle began to whistle and Sherlock moved to take it off the heat.

'You'll have to go, won't you? You'll want to go?' Molly murmured, her fingers tightening around the handle of the kettle.

'We'll all have to go,' Sherlock replied, just as quietly, pouring the water into it.

"Only they'll have you doing something terribly clever somewhere or other and they'll ship the others off to the continent to get shot to pieces."

"They will be fine Molly, they are fully trained. He looked at the table to see the box tied up with a blue ribbon. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"It's your Birthday Sherlock. Of course I did. Something useful."

"Thank you Molly."

They were both silent while the tea brewed. He unceremoniously opened the box to find a pocket magnifying glass. Thank you again Molly. I've needed one of these for ages. Tea should have brewed by now." He said with a nod towards the pot.

"Give it a minute yet." Molly replied. "You know I can't stand weak tea." She went into the fridge and pulled out the milk.

"Stop thinking about it." Sherlock mumbled, wrapping his left arm around Molly's waist. He pressed several warm kisses to the back of her neck, resting his nose and chin there with a sigh.

"I'll try."

"They can look after themselves."

"I know. I'm afraid it will..." She paused for a second, turning in his arm. "I know it's silly but my first memory was when I was three and I was watching the Zeppelins come over London and bombing houses, including mine. I don't want it to turn into something like that again."

He lifted her chin and pecked a kiss on her lips. "It's not. I love you Molly, I'm not going to let anything happen."

...

At the sharp knock at the door, Sherlock glowered and sat up straight. Sighing and throwing the book he was reading to the floor. "That's Mycroft's knock." He muttered, already sulking as he usually did whenever he and Mycroft met.

"Child." John said, flicking the back of Sherlock's head as he went to open the door.

"Doctor Watson. Good morning." Mycroft said unfazed.

"Mycroft." John replied, stepping back and motioning Mycroft inside. He took his hat off and moved towards the hatstand, wrinkling his nose when he saw that a life-size skeleton model just standing there. John bit back a smile and held his hand out for Mycroft's hat, which he handed over with a withering look.

"If you're here to try and recruit me for your war Mycroft, I'm not interested." Sherlock said, his nose buried in John's medical journal that he was pretending to read. "I'd sooner have your chums at the war office bury a bullet in my chest for cowardliness than go and rot in a trench somewhere."

John shook his head and looked a Sherlock, wishing he hadn't have said that. Mycroft had taken the armchair next to the sofa, one long leg crossed over the other.

"I was going to suggest the endless amounts of cyphers for you to crack. Horrendously difficult, of course. Technology for you to experiment with. Everyone working there will be of a similar ilk to you and I. More than enough to keep you occupied whilst the others are otherwise... engaged."

Sherlock's grip on the magazine tightened. He glared down at its pages. John sat down at the other end of the sofa

"When am I due to be otherwise engaged?" John asked Mycroft, his mouth set in a firm line.

Pulling out a notebook from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, Mycroft shifted in his chair as he turned to a page that had its corner folded down. "Owing to your medical expertise, John, January."

"October. John and Sargent Hooper." Sherlock said immediately, finally putting the magazine down. He had been thinking of Molly the whole time.

'Sorry?' Mycroft said.

'October. Push it back to October. Then I'll go and break your codes.'

"Sherlock, I cannot possibly delay their conscriptions by ten months. Sargent Hooper will have to be shipped off in the next few..."

"I know you can." Sherlock replied haughtily, glaring at his brother. "One more year for all of them and I'll go."

"Sherlock." John said, "Everyone's got to do their bit and you can't..."

"That's the deal, Mycroft. One more year else I shan't go at all."

Mycroft sniffed and set his jaw. "Very well." He said, his tone clipped.

A tiny, triumphant smile appeared on Sherlock's lips. Mycroft put the glass down and stood, leaning on his umbrella.

"Do call on Mummy some time this century, Sherlock, won't you? This nasty business isn't doing anything for her nerves. She will want to wish you a Happy Birthday." He took his hat off the model skeleton's skull, where John had put it, with an irritated sigh. "I'll see myself out." A moment later, the door to the flat clicked behind him, then the front door.


	10. He's many things, but he's not stupid

14th September 1939

There was a quick tap on Molly's door. "Sargent Hooper." It wasn't a knock but it alarmed them that somebody was at the door.

Molly had heard the man and recognised the voice over the newborn baby crying on her shoulder. Wandering in to the hallway to open the door. "Hello, Mr Holmes."

Matthew walks into the hall and looks at both of them. He had the same features as Molly; apart from the deep green eyes that coincided with the uniform he was wearing. "You know this man Molly?"

"Ah, you two haven't met. Matthew, this is Sherlock's brother, Mycroft Holmes. Please come in, I was about to make some tea."

"Thank you." Mycroft flashed a quick smile and entered, hoping the baby would sleep soon.

"Excuse me a second while I put the little one down." Molly disappears, carrying David into the kitchen.

Mycroft and Matthew went into the living room to discuss the reason why he had visited. "I assume that Molly has told you about me."

"Yeah, the man who works in the government. She told me about your little discussion at a men's only club." Matthew understood why but didn't appreciate what he did. "Me and my sister don't keep secrets from each other."

Mycroft gives a snide smile. "I'm sure you don't."

"I know about my sister's relationship with your brother and I can reassure you, I trust her. I know she won't let anything inappropriate happen."

"I am reassured, I know what she is like. I can attest to that. Back to business anyway." Looking up to see Molly hovering the cup of tea. He reached up and took the cup and saucer as he spoke, slightly relieved that there was no baby crying. "Due to my minor position in government I can tell you that your deployment is postponed until October of next year. "

"What? Really?" Molly smiled, a little relived. Matthew was not too sure.

"What's the catch? There's always one."

"Matthew, don't be like that." Molly glared at him. "It's a chance to stay at home longer."

"No, no. I understand. No catch for you." Mycroft smiled a little. "Molly, have you seen my brother anywhere?"

"No. Not today."

"Tell him to ring his mother. He might actually listen to you. She is dreadfully worried about him. She gives me a headache every time she rings and asks me about him."

"I'll try but he will not listen to me either."

...

"Your brother came today. He managed to get another year here for my brother."

"There was something else?"

"He thought you might listen to me about ringing your mother."

"Horrid creature." Sherlock muttered, sprawling across the sofa again, resting his head in Molly's lap, closing his eyes. Molly smiled a little.

"He may be, but you'll be safe off being clever somewhere." She said, sighing a little, cupping Sherlock's jaw, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

"You'd die of boredom without me. They will be okay." Sherlock said, eyes still closed. She chuckles.

"Quite possibly. Does Mycroft know about us?" She asked, frowning as he thought about it.

'Know?' Sherlock said, opening one eye, looking up at Molly. "Why would you ask that?"

"I think he and my brother were talking about us earlier."

"Oh yes, of course he knows. He hires men to follow me, there was one tailing me that night I came here. And besides, he's many things, but he's not stupid.' He closed his eyes again. "Does yours?"

"Yes, he knows. I'm not going to lie if he asks. He will kill you if we do anything 'inappropriate', as he puts it." Molly said.

Sherlock smiled and rested his hand on Molly's waist. "I know. That's why I love you. I wish I didn't have to go at all."

"Why'd you say that?" She looks down at him.

"I'm only going because my brother promised that John and your brother didn't have to go to the continent for another year if I did."

"Thank you Sherlock." Molly said, tugging Sherlock closer to her, giving him a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too." He sighed a little. "It's going to be so different now."

"I know you don't like change. We'll manage."


	11. Cabbages in Buckingham Palace

16th December, 1939

"At this rate, neither of us will be going anywhere." Sherlock said, throwing one newspaper to the kitchen floor and unfolding another. Beginning to scan the text before throwing it down again near John's feet. "It's nothing but an phoney war."

"What's that?" Molly asked, putting the teapot in the middle of the table, next to the sugar bowl that always sat there. Going back to the frying pan. "Get the milk out, would you Matthew."

Without looking, Matthew thew an arm behind himself and opened the door of the refrigerator, finding the bottle of milk immediately and placing it on the table. "They also want us all to grow food." He muttered.

"The King and Queen are doing it."

"Cabbages in Buckingham Palace, bloody hell..." John placed a mug in front of Sherlock.

"Hm? Mycroft and father will be appalled." Sherlock lifted his head slightly, but didn't move his eyes away from the paper. It wasn't until Molly put the plate in front of him that he looked away from it.

"I ate yesterday."

"That was only a piece of toast Sherlock." John pointed to Sherlock's plate with his knife. "Eat your egg."

"Not hungry." Watching the three of them eat.

"Please eat Sherlock." Molly asked after a while, picking up some toast from the rack on the table.

Sighing and muttering under his breath, he took a bite, chasing the spilt yolk around his plate with the toast.

"See, not too bad is it?" Matthew finished, looking at Molly and smiling

"Not horrid." Sherlock replied with another little sniff, pouring them all mug of tea, wrapping his hands around the pot to warm them.

"Sherlock. Don't be like that." John complained around a mouthful of toast.

Straightening his back, Sherlock wrinkled his nose and blinked a few times. "Talking with a mouthful of food is hideous. We are guests john."

John rolled his eyes and swallowed. "I forget how much you value manners. Remind me what you called Mycroft last time he was here?"

Sherlock sighed and gave John a look. "We're at the table and not in front of Molly."

Matthew laughed a little. "She's probably heard it all anyway."

"All the same, she wouldn't want to hear it." Sherlock said as he picked up another paper.

...

"Come in Sherlock." Molly put a hand on Sherlock's arm. "I don't want you catching a chill."

"I've caught worse." He mumbled, pulling out another cigarette. Sherlock had smoked his way through most of a pack of cigarettes in the hour he had stood at the back door thinking. It was dark and hammering down with rain. He pulled her in closer to him, an arm around her waist. "This should keep the chill away while I smoke this last one."

"Aren't they limited?"

"Not for me. The only reason I talk to Mycroft. John gone home?"

"Yes, Matthew's in bed too."

He smiled down at her, pulling her into a kiss. Closing their eyes, holding onto each other. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

...

Matthew dragged himself out of bed late morning, rubbing his eyes as he wandered downstairs in his dressing gown. Going straight into the kitchen. Noticing Molly and Sherlock laying on the sofa. A protective arm over her, tucking her into his chest. Still with the same clothes on that Matthew saw when he went to bed.

Sherlock murmured and woke, looking over to see who was clattering in the kitchen. He got up to make sure.

"Holmes? Are you still here?" Pulling out another mug for tea.

"It was late so Molly said I can sleep on the sofa." Sherlock stretched

"With her."

"We didn't do anything, I can assure you."

"I know, you wouldn't be here if you did." He turns to Sherlock. "However much she loves you, she will not 'repeat our mother's mistake'. From her own mouth. And there will be more people than just me that will beat the shit out of you too."

"I understand. Your not the first person to threaten to bash me into a pulp if anything did happen." Sherlock's mind flicked back to when John and Lestrade found out that he had kissed her. They stood right in front of him with jaws to the floor. 'Molly's a good woman, do anything and I swear you won't be able to distinguish the features on your face I'm finished with you!'

Sherlock gulped a little. "Your mother had a child out of wedlock."

"Yes, Charles, our father brought him up as one of his own until he discovered he was taking opium. Never did see him after that, well until the court case. You don't need to dig into that either. Do you hear me?" Matthew pointed at him. "That's something to stay in the past. She won't want you to know about that." He used his hand to demonstrate their half brothers fate, putting it above his head and pretending it was a noose for a split second.

Sherlock nodded. "There are things that should stay in the past." For the first time he felt like he had to lie about his drug fuelled days at university, if it ever came up, to keep her. There was almost a flood of guilt that came over him. He shook it off. It was all in his past.

Matthew started to pour the tea. "You better look after her, Sherlock, when I'm gone."

"As much as I can."

"Don't give me that crap Sherlock. I know what your family is like. The brother that practically rules the government. I'm going to hold you responsible if anything does. It takes a lot to leave my sister in the hands of another man. "

"With every breath in my body. She will be safe."


	12. Belle of the Ball

10th May 1940.

"It seems appropriate that Churchill, who had warned for years about the threat posed to the world by Hitler's Germany, is now the individual called upon to lead Britain against Nazi aggression." Mycroft said in a calm voice.

"Only because he's your choice Mycroft." Sherlock uttered, looking over at him.

"Boys. Behave." The Countess warned. "Guests do not wish to see you too bickering like children. I will not have what happened last time."

"Why are we even here mother?" Sherlock moaned. Molly adjusted her arm in his. Slightly overwhelmed and a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. She stood next to him in the most expensive dress she had seen, keeping a grasp on his arm like her life depended on it.

"Appearances, Sherlock." The Earl, his father, said. "The whole family giving the middle finger up and the Germans and raising funds for the troops. Your mothers idea." He didn't really want to be there either but needs must. His wife gave him a glare at his bluntness as she fixed his uniform a little. "Charity balls are the latest thing Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking down at Molly. "It's only for one night and we will be back in London tomorrow." She whispered. "I'm about as uncomfortable as you are."

"I'm glad I'm not the only on then. I don't like these things, the downside to an upper class family." He pulled her arm a little closer. "I'm also glad you came too."

She smiled. "I couldn't let you come on your own. At least the girls won't swarm you this time." She chuckled.

"Thank god." He muttered, kissing her cheek.

"Sherlock, please, proper etiquette." His mother turned and looked at him, he stood up straight and faced forward.

...

Molly sat in the corner of the room, casting her eye on all the strangers in the room. Trying to keep poised and elegant.

"You look completely lost." She looked up to see the Holmes matriarch slipping into the chair next to her.

"Countess." She lowered her head a little. "My first function of this size and class. I don't even know most of the people here."

She smile at Molly. "Dr Hooper. Thirty years ago I was exactly in the same position. You're doing a lot better than me. By this time I had punch all over my white dress." They look at each other and start chuckling a little. "However it did get me a husband too."

"You didn't start off high class? Your so natural at it though."

"Years of experience and a domineering Mother-in-Law. Unlike her, I'll help you. Most of these are of a similar rank to my husband, however you have the odd exemption."

"Odd exemption?"

"Mycroft's friends. Well, people he wants to impress. Over there is Lord Louis Mountbatten." Pointing to the group of Navy officers. "In the other corner is the assistant to the new Prime minister Churchill." She smiles a little as he catches her attention. "And my favourite, he's dancing, His Royal Highness, The Duke of Kent."

"George? The king's Brother?" Molly looked shocked.

"The very same." The countess smiled.

"I should warn you, you will have to face some prejudice. Some may see you as an upstart until you prove them wrong. You may have it worse with your 'Unlady-Like' profession, but I see you as the future."

"I understand." Molly nodded.

"Oh, look Louis is coming over."

She stood as the strapping Naval commander strode toward them. "Our lovely hostess, how are you Maria?" Kissing her hand in a gentlemanly fashion.

"As well as you, Dickie, by the look of it."

She turns towards Molly. "Let me introduce Doctor Hooper, a friend of my sons."

"Doctor? No wonder they tolerate you." He smiles, also kissing Molly's hand. "You must be a saint to be around them. Like the Countess here."

"They are not that bad really." Molly smiled. The Countess retreated to talk to her husband about something.

"You obviously didn't know them when they were younger. Do they still throw little smarmy comments at each other."

"Truthfully, Whenever they possibly can. Don't tell the countess I said that."

He laughed. "I remember the last time I came here. I actually thought that was the break of a war." He though for a second. "I apologise, poor choice of words.

"Nothing to worry about. It's the best thing to do with it. Keep the spirits up." She smiled.

"The blitz spirit. A very good thing."

...

"You seem to be enjoying yourself." The Earl stated as Molly and he danced around. "Are you positive this is your first ball?'

"Yes, Thank you, Sir."

"You've also managed to keep the boys quiet all night. An achievement in it's self. Sherlock was so distracted by you he didn't even bother with Mycroft. I think that I might have to keep you around more often." He chuckled. "Might make Christmas a lot easier. And stop calling me sir."

"Very well. I keep telling people they aren't that bad." She looked over at Sherlock, he diverted his eyes to make it less obvious.

"I know, Dickie told me you too had a pleasant chat."

"Lord Mountbatten was quite the character." Still with her eyes on Sherlock.

"You two have the same look as what me and my wife did when we set eyes on each other."

Molly looked back and blushed. "I'm sorry.."

"It's quite alright. He must love you, I've not seen him like that before."

They talked until the music changed to a different pace and Sherlock tapped his Father's shoulder. "May I?"

He watched his father leave before speaking to her. "I knew there was a reason I brought you here. You're the belle of the ball." He smiled at her, giving her a kiss on the cheek while none were looking."You even caught the eye of the Duke of Kent. He said he will have to have a dance with you before the night's end."

Sherlock took one of Molly's hand and put one on her waist. "At least not before I do."

...


	13. Fire men's Valor

7th September 1940

Molly was beginning to get very tired of sitting by herself in the hospital. She had stayed up half the night helping Sherlock analyse the composition of several identical samples of cheese from France, but half an hour ago he had jumped up from the microscope saying that he had to get something from the Medical supply cupboard upstairs. Dragging poor John with him.

Molly was wondering if she should continue measuring the pH of the samples, or if she should slip away to her office to take a little nap when Mycroft Holmes came in through the door.

Mycroft was dressed impeccably in a pale grey three-piece suit, a short black coat, and white kid gloves wrapped around the hooked handle of a black umbrella. Molly had never seen a man wearing white gloves before.

"Where has Sherlock gotten to this time?" Mycroft asked. "He knows that today is the meeting with the King. Can't he for once be on time?"

Molly stood up. Her white lab coat looking somehow childish next to the formality of his brushed wool coat. "Is Sherlock going to see the King?"

"Certainly not. I wouldn't let Sherlock anywhere near him!" Mycroft said pulling out his pocket watch, "But it appears that he is going to make me late. The I'm meeting the King for..." He pauses a second. "Well you know don't need to know that, and Sherlock told me to stop the proceedings, saying that he had an explanation. Where is he?"

"He said that he was going to the canteen." Molly said, "I could go look for him?"

"Wait?" Mycroft said opening and then slamming his pocket watch with a snap before placing it back into the pocket of his waistcoat, "No time to wait! I'll go there myself."

Mycroft turned and left the lab. His smart black oxfords clicking as he walked down the hall. Molly rushed out after him.

Despite being ever so slightly overweight, Mycroft Holmes could move at quite a pace if he wanted to. Molly had trouble keeping up with him. His coat flapped and his umbrella clicked on the floor as he walked down the hallway turning into the stairwell.

...

They came just after dark, and somehow Sherlock could sense from the quick, bitter firing of the guns that something was not right. The room, with its black curtains drawn across the windows, he could feel the shake from the guns. You could hear the boom of heavy bombs at their work of tearing buildings apart. They were not too far away. After the wailing of the sirens had stopped, the droning of the German planes could be heard.

He and john grabbed their coats and ran. The whole horizon of a city lined with great fires, scores of them, perhaps hundreds. Sherlock saw something awfully inspiring about the savagery about it, until John pushed him into one of the underground shelters.

...

Molly pushed Mycroft to the nearest shelter. "Now you have another, more reasonable, excuse for being late." The closest fires were near enough to hear the crackling flames and the yells of firemen. Little fires grew into big ones even as we watched. Big ones died down under the firemen's valor, only to break out again later.

About every two minutes a new wave of planes would be over. The motors seemed to grind rather than roar in blind fury.

Whole batches of incendiary bombs fell. They flashed terrifically, then quickly simmered down to pin points of dazzling white, burning ferociously. These white pin points would go out one by one, as the unseen heroes of the moment smothered them with sand. But also, while we watched, other pin points would burn on, and soon a yellow flame would leap up from the white centre. They had done their work, another building was on fire.

...

Matthew managed to make it down to the station, nearly colliding with John and Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs. "Mind you mind... Holmes? Captain Watson?" Immediately saluting John.

"Sargent Hooper. Where's Molly?" John asked, Sherlock was oblivious to him, scouring the station for her.

"I don't know. She should be down here. This is the nearest public one to the hospital."

They all cursed. Splitting up to look for her. Into the very depths of the station. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

...

"Miss Hooper, I am perfectly capable of getting to my private shelter." Mycroft protested as they entered the under ground shelter.

"And get blown up in the process, you're not stupid Mycroft." Molly uttered doubtfully.

"We nearly..."

"Mr Holmes, I advise you to shut up and do as you are told." Molly sternly said to him, trying to forget about the cut on her cheek. Looking around for Sherlock. She knew that John was sensible enough to get him to the nearest station if he liked it or not.

Sherlock's ears pricked up as he heard her voice warning his brother. He ran straight towards it. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, making her wince a little. He looked down to see the slight gash on her cheek.

"I'm okay Sherlock."

Molly felt the comforting stroke of her brothers hand in her hair. "What happened Molly?"

"Flying glass from a explosion near us. Nothing what won't heal."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and brushed the dust off his suit. "Why on earth did you drag me that way?"

"I believe Molly told you to shut up Mycroft. It might be fore the best since we could be down here for hours."


	14. As long as needed, brother dear

8th October 1940

The underground was crowded, sweltering and noisy. People filled every square inch of the station, children lying on spread out coats, women sitting against the wall, old men standing at the foot of the stairs and talking. A dull roar of the planes could be heard above their heads, above ground. A baby cried. The smell of makeshift tea and smoke filled the air

"This is absolutely..." Sherlock muttered under his breath, stopping as Molly gazed at him. He frowned and pulled a cigarette out of his solid silver case with shaking hands, biting down on the end of it. Molly struck a match, cupping her hand around it to make sure the draught from the tunnel didn't extinguish the flame as she lit Sherlock's cigarette for him.

"I know." She murmured, shaking the match until a thin line of smoke curled up towards the ceiling.

Sherlock drew the smoke into his lungs with a quick, deep breath. "The last time we can be together for God only knows how long..." He spat, pressing the tips of his fingers to his forehead, elbow resting on his drawn-up knee. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke. "The last time before they send me god knows where, I'm not anywhere near and the others get sent to the bloody continent and there is none here to keep you safe..."

"Sherlock." Her tone quiet and firm as ever. Putting a hand in his bicep. "I will be fine, Greg's here too."

"It's not fair." Sherlock sulked, inhaling deeply again. "It isn't fair, and it's horrid and hateful and beastly and it's our last night together and we're in this Godforsaken place and.."

"Shut up Sherlock." She told him. "I don't want to remember you sulking."

He dropped his voice. "I want you. I want my hands on your skin, my lips against yours, I-' He broke off and brought the cigarette to his mouth, sucking in a shaking breath. He fisted his other hand in the material of his deep grey suit. Not helped by the fact that the baby was still crying. "It isn't fair!" Sherlock whispered.

"I know it isn't fair, but it is what it is and there's nothing we can do."

"I love you." Sherlock breathed, turning his head so that it appeared he was looking at the ceiling as he spoke, his mouth six inches away from Molly's ear. He pulled his huge, blue coat out from underneath himself and threw it over their legs, using the movement to shift closer to her. He ran his hand along the dirty ground until he found hers and laced their fingers together, clutching tightly, Molly squeezed back.

"I love you too. Just come back home soon."

"I'll try too. That baby is really starting to annoy me now. Where is the mother?"

"I don't know. I sounds like a cry of pain." She says, getting up.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock looks up.

"Well, you said it was annoying and it might need medical help." She pushed her way through to the crowds to find a Moses basket in the corner.

"Molly! It's got nothing..." He had noticed the crying had stopped as Molly picked it up.

"She's only a few weeks old." Molly looked over her to make sure.

Sherlock looked over to see a note amongst the few things to help look after the little girl. "Veuillez prendre soin de mon chère petite Emmeline."

"Please look after my dear little Emmeline." Molly murmured.

...

The siren wail allowed them all to resurface to see what the latest damage the German's had inflicted on the capital city. Molly and Sherlock emerged from the station, Emmeline asleep in Sherlock's arms.

"She's taken a shying to you." Molly smiled, looking up at him.

"Molly, she's a baby. I doubt that." Emmeline sucking her thumb asleep with had a tight grasp on his white shirt.

"She's still human Sherlock. She can like and dislike people."

"She can't understand it Molly." He frowned a little at her. He looked down as Emmeline opened her bright green eyes. "Look completely oblivious."

"Sherlock." She shot him a look. "Like you said, she is a baby. She is not oblivious. She recognised us as someone that would look after her. That's why she stopped crying."

"Fine, she's slightly less oblivious than Anderson."

...

Molly opens the door to 221B for Sherlock as he wanders in. "Sherlock, is that you?" Mrs Hudson cooed as she popped her head around the door.

"Yes, could you warm up some milk for us please?"

"Milk?" She asked before she noticed the bundle in his arms.

"We found her in the station. Molly insisted on looking after her."

Molly passes her a bottle as she smiles. "Good, you can't leave a baby down there. What's her name?"

"Emmeline." He murmured looking up at the clock. "Bugger, I have to go."

"Sherlock, what have I told you about your language!" Mrs Hudson gasped a little, taking the baby.

Grabbing his hat and coat from the hatstand, Sherlock pulled them on, flipping his collar up. He kissed Molly. "I love you. I'll see you soon." He picked up his suitcase, looking sadly at Molly as he kissed Mrs Hudson's Cheek.

Molly kissed Sherlock's cheek and breathed in the smell of him. "I love you too." She whispered before stepping back, brushing an piece of lint from Sherlock's suit jacket.

"You'll miss your train." Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock leant in for another quick kiss, brushing their lips together once more, murmuring "I love you." Before he turned on his heel and left.

Molly watched him walk out of the door. A lump stuck in her throat. Mrs Hudson touched her shoulder. "He'll be alright, I'm sure. We need to focus on this little one more. Sherlock can look after himself."

Molly nodded and took the baby. "Come on little one."

...

Sherlock turned the corner of Baker Street when a black car pulled up again. He sighed and got in. "I have a train to catch and you know that."

"Your not catching that train. It was a ploy, so not to worry anyone."

"Your not going to. I am not infiltrating anything for you." Sherlock snapped.

"You have to." He looked at Sherlock. "You promised."

"Don't start that again Mycroft."

Mycroft sighs. "Do I have to tell our parents?"

"You wouldn't, it should compromise me and the others you've already got in there. How long?"

"As long as is needed, brother dear."


	15. The Soldier, The Spy and The Mother

[Writers note: Writer is English so apologises for any mistakes in other languages. She did translate herself after years of learning loads of different languages. Please don't hesitate to privately contact writer for changes, if needed. Also the events and facts featured within this Fan fiction are from real stories (Names are made up though, and some things added in!) and are based off eye witness accounts and transcripts writer has seen and found. Oh and this is based on English and Polish thoughts at the time, no offence to any other Germans. Enjoy!]

20th December 1940

John was placed 2nd RNF Battalion, or the Fifth Fusiliers to most people. Thankfully he was drafted in after the May/June evacuation of Dunkirk. Now settling into his new role of Captain attached to the Fourth Infantry Division, Home forces, on invasion duty. He and a Private took over look out duty in a beach in Wells at 12:00 am.

"Do think me nosy or anything Sir but your a doctor, why aren't you out on a battleground or something more important than this?"

"Don't have a clue Private and this is rather important, don't you think? Don't want the German's trying to invade."

"True. You must have a friend in a high place."

John took a long sigh and muttered. "Mycroft bloody Holmes."

The private had the pencil and paper out, ready to note down everything he was about to say.

"12:15 am, Nothing out the ordinary."

"Why do we have to be stuck in bloody Wells, Captain? It's bloody freezing." The private started to shiver a little, wrapping his thick coat around him.

"Better here, your sheltered at least." John said, rather quietly, looking through the binoculars. "See anything?"

"12:30 Am, Nothing out the ordinary." He turned to the private. "Not a bloody thing!"

"Couldn't we be placed somewhere warmer, like Africa or something." He moaned.

"You want to be part of the ones occupying Sollum. You bloody jump to it lad, I'd rather be defending Blighty. At least you see your girl and get to go home on your free days."John sighed. "Do you have one?"

"A girl? Yeah, a pretty little red head wife at home." The private smiled. "Married a month before I was called up."

"Lucky you." John rolled his eyes a little. "Don't have one Sir, or you eyeing one out?"

"What?"

"Got an eye on one?" The private smiled a little. "That nurse in one the towns near. Morstan. The lads saw you chatting to her on a good few occasions."

"Me and Mary talk professionally. That's all. Don't be spreading anything private."

"Me Sir? No sir! All I'm saying is that I think she likes you."

"Shut it Private, if I were you..."

"Yes sir, but she does."

...

Sherlock lounged on the chair in the dark seclusion room. "Can we just get on with it Mycroft, he's clearly a spy."

Mycroft scowled at him and looked down at the file. "How long have you been here?"

"Where?"

"In England?" Sherlock muttered and rolled his eyes.

"In England, erm, I have been here since the 15th of June 1938."

"I believe you are telling me lies." Mycroft leant forward.

"Of course it's a bloody lie Mycroft!"

"It's true!" He protested to the both of them.

"We have evidence to suggest otherwise and you are sweating rather a lot." He took a sniff and shuddered a little.

"You have been working for the Germans as a wireless operator and you were parachuted into the country." Sherlock could see that, not even bothering to look into the file in front of him.

"I did not!"

Mycroft sighed frustrated, glancing over at Sherlock. Slamming the door on his way out.

"Wir wissen beide, dass du lügst. Schreiben Sie es auf, und ich kann Sie davor als Spion gehängt zu stoppen." Sherlock murmured and leant back on the chair. _(We both know you are lying. Write it down and I can stop you from being hanged as a spy.) _

"I am not a Spy!"

"Was machst du mit einem deutschen Mobilfunk dann? Wir beschlagnahmten alle von ihnen zu Beginn des Krieges mit Deutschland." _(What are you doing with a German wireless then? We confiscated all of them at the beginning of the war with Germany.)_

He started to get irritated. "Ich konnte nicht zulassen, eine Familientradition von den Briten gestoppt werden. Wir hören, dass jeden Sonntag. Nichts mit Spionage zu tun. Dieses Land hat mir einen Job und zu Hause gegeben, im Gegensatz zu Deutschland! Ich werde nicht alles verraten, um sicherzustellen, dass sie nicht gewinnen!" _(I could not let a family tradition be stopped by the British. We listen to that every sunday. Nothing to do with country has given me a job and home, unlike Germany! I'm not going to give all that away to make sure they dont win!)_

"Hören deutschen Sendungen ist seitdem verboten." _(Listening to German Broadcastings have been banned since then.)_

He knew he was caught, and was considering his options. "Wie können Sie von erhängt?" _(How can you stop me from being hanged?)_

"Sie bekennen und ernähren Informationen bis hin zu Hitler." _(You confess and feed information through to Hitler.)_

"Hail Hitler!" Thrusting his left arm up into the arm as a protest. Sherlock swung a right punch at him.

"Barstard! Das ist Hochverrat!" He reached under the table and pulled out a rope. _(That's treason!)_

"Nicht in meinem Land!" _(Not in my country!)_

Sherlock wrapped the rope around his neck. "Sind Sie bereit, dies zu tun, für Ihr Land zu sterben?" The rope tightening around his neck until he gave in. _(Are you ready to do this, die for your country?)_

"Alles, was Sie brauchen! Bitte, halt!" _(Anything you need! Please, stop!)_

...

Molly was sitting in her lounge playing with Emmeline when a knock was heard from the door. Picking her up and wondering over to see who it is. "Hello, can I help you?" She smiled, seeing the tall couple standing there. One in a RAF uniform and his wife holding their toddler.

He spoke in a heavy Polish accent. "Hello, I'm Mikhail Leski and this is my wife, Anna, and little daughter Maria. We are your...what's the word... new the next door neighbours."

She puts her hand out to shake his. "Doctor Molly Hooper, and this is Emmeline. Please come in." She walks down to the kitchen. "Would you like some tea?"

Anna nods and smiles at her, putting Maria down so she could wander a little. "Please, that would be lovely. Maria, trzymaj się blisko." _(Stay close.)_

"Tak matka!" _(Yes mama.)_

Mikhail put his arms out. "Let me take her while you do that." Molly smiles as she hands Emmeline over and puts the pot of tea on the table. "My mother's name was Maria. She's a pretty little girl."

"She is what my mother used to call a róża." He smiles. "Something that she would call Emmeline too. Your daughter is a beautiful little girl."

"She isn't mine, I care for her. A friend and I found her in one of the train stations." She took Emmeline back, letting her play with one of her fingers as she sipped her tea.

Anna gasped a little. "Biedna mała dziewczynka! It's good you found her. I could never do that to a child!" _(Poor little girl!)_

Her husband nodded in agreement. "I see she is in the best hands."

Molly's smile brightened. "Where are you from?"

"Wrocław, the west of Poland." Anna sombrely said, reaching for the Star of David on her necklace and kissing it.

"I am sorry." Molly's glanced down at Emmeline and back to little Maria, sitting on the floor near her legs.

"You have heard what has been going on?" Mikhail asked.

"You were pushed out of your home, I could never imagine that."

"It worse! A friend of mine has just reached here and told us that we were lucky to get out. Our Village... ransacked and the Germans took all of the... Żydzi and put them in Ghettos or killing them."

"Hitler wants to hurt the Jewish?" Molly looked stunned.

"Tak, he blames them for everything that is wrong. It's not just us, disabled, gypsy, it could anyone."


	16. Lights for miracles and wonders

[Writer's note: Yet again, sorry! As the writer is not of Jewish faith, she had to research into Hanukkah. She does apologise if anything is wrong.]

24th December 1940

There had been bombings a few months and Molly, like every other Londoner, had gotten accustomed to the strange grey mornings when everybody came stumbling out of the shelters after the all clear and tried to work out what was still there. London had become a city with huge blown-apart gaps in it where she had known shops, streets, houses. The bombsites had been, and still were, extraordinary emptinesses.

She and Anna made their way back home, Molly pushing the pram with Maria standing on one of the metal bars and holding onto the leather handle, almost like her life depended on it.

_"_Matka, ojciec, będzie powrót do modlitwy będzie dziś wieczorem?"

_(Mama, Will papa return for prayers tonight?)_

"Nie, kochanie. On modlił się wraz z innymi w bazie. Please talk in English in front Dr Hooper, it's rude."

_(No, sweetie. He will praying with the others at the base.)_

"Sorry mama, Sorry Dr Hooper. I don't know what Modły is in English."

"It's okay Maria, I don't mind at all. I think it is Prayers." Molly smiled down at the little girl

"You seem to be picking up Polish." Anna smiled. The little girl repeats it until she gets it right, smiling brightly

"Well done Maria. I've had the odd Polish patient here and there. You speak a lot more English than most." She smiles. "It's very interesting to see the different languages and cultures in London."

"My husband has friends in high places."

"I know what that's like. A friend of mine has a brother in the government."

"Oh really? Mr Holmes?"

Molly smiles a little. "Yes, I know Sherlock."

"There are many things I've heard about him." Anna smiles at her. "You know, you are welcome to join us, if you would like to?"

"I would like that, thank you. How about you come over tomorrow?"

"I think that's fair Molly." Anna smiled.

...

"Dr Hooper, do you want to the candle?"

Anna smiled and watched the last of eight candles being lit, taking the prayer. "Hanneirot hallalu anachnu madlikin 'al hannissim ve'al hanniflaot 'al hatteshu'ot ve'al hammilchamot she'asita laavoteinu bayyamim haheim, bazzeman hazeh 'al yedei kohanekha hakkedoshim. Vekhol-shemonat yemei Hanukkah hanneirot hallalu kodesh heim, ve-ein lanu reshut lehishtammesh baheim ella lir'otam bilvad kedei lehodot ul'halleil leshimcha haggadol 'al nissekha ve'al nifleotekha ve'al yeshu'otekh."

_(We light these lights for miracles and wonders, for the redemption and the battles that you made for our forefathers, in those days at this season, through your holy priests. During all eight days of Hanukkah these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make ordinary use of them except for to look at them in order to express thanks and praise to Your great Name for Your miracles, Your wonders and Your salvations.)_

"Gmar chatimah tovah, to all." Maria smiles.

"Another tradition is to play the Dreidel. A child's game we play together. If gimel is facing up, the player gets everything in the pot. If hei is facing up, the player gets half of the pieces in the pot. If pei is facing up, the player adds a game piece to the pot and shin results in adding three game pieces to the pot. Lose all of your pieces then your out."

"It's like the Teetotum I used to have as a child." Molly sat on the floor with Emmeline laying in her lap.

They played for some time, though it felt like less, before a deep voice came from nowhere. "Happy Hanukkah."

Molly looked up to the voice that she had missed for the past two months. "Sherlock?" She picked up the baby and jumped up and held him tight. "You didn't tell me you were coming back?"

"Didn't know until a couple of hours ago. Mycroft pushed me onto a train once work was done..." He turned to Anna and Maria. "I hope Molly has made you welcome, Mrs Leska."

"Perfectly, Mr Holmes."

...

Sherlock and Molly went back to her house a few hours later, after tea. Sherlock had gone and bought another loaf of bread and they'd had some of it with the jam Mrs Hudson had made in Northamptonshire and sent to him. Molly had gathered the crockery off the table and was now standing at the sink, washing up. Sherlock fiddled with the needle of the Gramophone as it scratched gently against the record, crackling for a couple of seconds before his favourite piece of music began to play. Long arms wrapped around Molly's waist as she finished. "Would you like to dance?" He murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder and looking out of the window at the dark clouds.

Molly laughed, lifting a mug out of the ever darkening water and placing it on the draining board. She turned and caught Sherlock's lips in a soft kiss, lifting a slightly soapy hand out of the water to touch to Sherlock's jaw. "I've got to finish this off, you're hardly going to do it."

"Shame." Sherlock murmured, kissing her temple and resting his forehead against it. "How've you been?"

"Perfectly well. That photograph of you in your uniform improved the last few months. I put it next to my brother's and the photo Mrs Hudson sent me of John."

"I look ridiculous."

'I thought you looked rather handsome." She smiled.

"I look a fool. I expressly told them that I wasn't having any of it, playing at soldiers. It would be bad enough if it was just with... Doesn't matter, but there's men from the Somme and every other stretch of mud from Ypres to sodding Verdun bawling about the Germans and-'

"Have a bit of respect." Molly said, turning to frown at Sherlock. "My grandfather was one of those at the Somme. Never left actually. You've never slept in a trench or been shot at."

She kissed his forehead. "It's not much of an ask, Sherlock, playing at soldiers a couple of times a week."

"You really like the uniform?"

Molly laughed. "You look smashing." She put his his right hand onto her back and moved her left hand onto his shoulder, interlacing the fingers of their other hands and stepping close enough that their chests were brushing. "You wanted to dance."

Glancing at Molly, Sherlock led them in a faltering box step to the music. They reached the living room and Sherlock stretched one of his arms out to start the record again.

They danced until the end of the song, Molly dropping down onto the sofa as soon as it had finished. Sherlock lay down next to her, resting his head in her lap. Rain began to tap at the windows, the clouds having moved closer and grown darker. At Emmeline's cry Sherlock stood and picked her up, returning to his original place with him on her chest. Stoking her head a little.

Sherlock was quiet for a minute, though he caught and held Molly's left hand, bringing it to his lips. "Will this idiotic business ever end?" Sherlock asked, eyes closed, hearing the rain started to come down hard, pelting at the windows

"I don't know." Her voice quiet. "Maybe be one day soon."


End file.
